It’s been six years since I wrote ‘Bumblebee’ and the person I wrote it for is now ten … and he fancied a go at performing it !
Where is my pizza ?
March 18, 2017 by
To the tune of 'La Cucaracha' and more and more like Cookie Monster as the song goes on ...
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
It’s a question I ask twice
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
I’m so ready for a slice
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
I’ve been waiting for a year
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
Why my pizza is not here ?
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
They deliver on a bike
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
The one with toppings that I like
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
Me want pizza for me tea
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
Bloody late delivery
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
and my garlic bread as well
Where is my pizza ?
Where is my pizza ?
Wait a mo is that the bell ?
Me got me pizza
Me got me pizza
Om nom om nom nom umm numm
mmf gulp mmm pizza
num rip tear mouthful
Now me pizza in me tum
buuuuuuurp ….
Double Ewe Aah
March 16, 2017 by
‘wr’ is right in wrong
and right in write
but wrong in right
if you remember
this spelling song
you won’t be wrong
you’ll be alright
Existential Angst
November 3, 2016 by
If I were a cat with no tail : a manx
Would I suffer from existential angst ?
Would a pussy like me treat his life as a fail
On account of his quite unaccountable tail ?
Would the lack of a thing that I never once had
Make me catty or batty or simply quite mad ?
I think not. I’d be grounded. I’d stand on all paws.
My emotions well founded – all effects with a cause
I’d be straight like an arrow or even a beeline
cos a moggie like me is in touch with his felines
Leningrad
February 2, 2016 by
When in ‘grad
(that’s Leningrad
though whose ‘grad’s never stable:
Could be Lenin or Petro)
(You must try the Metro
Avtovo’s quite rightfully fabled)
Your feet will direct you
to Nevsky Prospekt to
go shopping or sit in a bar
Buy some boots with stout soles
cos with worn out plimsolls
in the Hermitage you won’t get far
It’s a palace and more
Many buildings and floors
Commissioned by Catherine the Great
Artists came when she beckoned
Old Catherine the Second
And it’s double the size of the Tate.
Bubbledogs
January 19, 2016 by
A friend of mine went to dinner at a place in London that specialises in hots dogs and champagne. I had never heard of such a thing, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s when a rhyme is called for.
If you want a young lady for dinner
Take Louise, she’s a certified winner
She’s not boring or pensive
And never expensive
Just a hot dog and bubbly will win her
Train Delays
June 8, 2015 by
They’re fidgeting like they’ve got ants in their pants
There’s train delays between Surrey and Hants
From Farnham to Alton there is no hilarity
We’re shocked and distressed at this poor punctuality
But hardiness and a stiff lip overcomes
The tardiness with which we visit our Mums
Seigneur
February 9, 2015 by
They repealed the feudal system
in seventeen eighty nine
If you want a fief
Well bad luck chief
This just is not the time
You might have once been Seigneur
What Brits like us call ‘Lord’
By dint of berf
You’re not a serf
You’ve got manor house and board
The truth is much less noble
More what the folk at home want
(Unless home is Sark, you own the park
and your name’s Michael Beaumont)
Bumblebee
December 7, 2014 by
Take a look, take a look, take a look at me
I’m the B-U-M and the B-L-E
With a B to the E and another E
I’m the ever-lovin’ ever-buzzin’ bumblebee
Don’t hunker in a hive like a honey bee
We do the bumblebee jive in a colony
in a hole underground or a hole in a tree
Don’t mess with us honey with your apiary
I’m the tiger in the sky dressed in yellow and black
See me flying real high got four wings on my back
I’m perfect aerodynamically
I’m the ever-loving’ ever-buzzin’ bumblebee
Ennui
October 13, 2014 by
The trouble with Henri his pauvre mère said
Is he suffers from ennui, won’t get out of bed
He won’t put his feet on the tedious floor
The thought of a shower’s a terrible bore
He’s resting he tells her, in between lulls
He’d flick through a book but they’re horribly dull
He goes to the toilet but just cos he must
He’d stay out of bed but he just can’t be fussed
Attempts to amuse him are met with a sigh
He says he would titter but he can’t quite see why
His Mum hopes that Amazon will end her sorrow
The dynamite’s ordered – it turns up tomorrow